I am a photo volunteer on Findagrave.com. What this means is, someone will request a picture of their beloved online and I’ll go to the grave yard and try to find the tomb stone. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes its a wee bit impossible. Sometimes it’s not even there. I went yesterday and day before, two days in a row as I had the luxury of taking extra time after work to swing by a local grave yard…or a nicer way to say it: “memorial park”
Most memorial parks are bigger, well-maintained, nicer and have yard services/funerals/flowers everywhere and actual human workers. Most old grave yards have none of the above.
I managed to find several graves but one eluded me, for two days in a row. I walked back and forth, back and forth over all the family names and couldn’t find it, but I did manage to see this strange item lying on the grass, and it was there two days in a row:
Maybe the person was a chef of some kind. I didn’t know if I should have called the memorial park to tell them there’s a meat cleaver lying in the grass that may spell the end of someone living who was visiting the dead.
Here’s another curious sight:
So my question is, how many Unidentified Males are buried here in this memorial park? 576? Or is that 576 total state-wide?
Another interesting side story: last year I was taking a few more photo requests and saw a really quaint tombstone of two winged angels sitting in the grass. I read the name of the parents on the baby’s grave and was stunned to learn that it was the baby of one of my former mountain-biking friends, who I have not seen in over yen years. It was sad because when I was riding with him, his girlfriend at the time (now wife) was expecting their first child, not sure if that was the grave of said child.
My high school classmate is also buried here; that was over twenty years ago and I don’t remember where she’s buried (I drove by it a long time ago). I didn’t attend her funeral but I did see her in the hospital before she passed away. I gave her a little bottle filled with floating star glitter, colored water and beads and called it a “wishing bottle” for hope. Her husband told me later they buried her with the bottle I gave her. It was ironic that in high school she used to terrorize me in the bathroom taunting and teasing me but forgot all about it until I saw her in the hospital; I wasn’t there specifically to see her, I happened to be working in the hospital at the time and remembered her, stopped in a few times and chatted with her and gave her a tiny glass bottle filled with sparkly little wishes.
My neighbor’s father and my friend’s father are buried here. I attended their funerals both in the same year. It was the year that seven of my friends and co-workers lost their fathers; all ages, older and younger. It was a strange year for fathers. No one’s mother’s passed away, only the dads.